


Most Likely To

by Swordy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s10e11 There's No Place Like Home, Gen, Mark of Cain, POV Outsider, Teen Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Dude, if a shrink interviewed us at that age, you think the report would be all kittens and rainbows? Come on.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Likely To

**Author's Note:**

> **Rating:** PG-13
> 
> **Genre/pairing:** Gen
> 
> **Spoilers:** Episode tag for Season 10, Episode 11.
> 
> **Warnings:** Bad language, mentions to possible violence, mental health issues.
> 
> **Word count:** 1,272
> 
> **Author's note:** Unbetaed so all mistakes are mine. I've been blown away by the episode tags folks on my friends list have been writing for this season. I've deliberately not read any of the ones for the most recent ep, so I could have a go myself. I hope people like it.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Sadly not mine (unlike the mistakes).

“Dude, if a shrink interviewed us at that age, you think the report would be all kittens and rainbows? Come on,” Dean says looking at his brother. Sam makes a face – a quick raise of the eyebrows – that says _you’ve got a point._ The conversation moves on.

What Dean _doesn’t_ say is that’s _exactly_ what happened to him at pretty much the same age that Charlie was being pegged a problem child. Sam won’t remember – he was nine years old and already pre-occupied with the chip he was cultivating on his shoulder in response to the myriad injustices he blamed their father for.

In one of the many high schools John had enrolled them into, only to yank them out of weeks or – on rare occasions – months later, Dean had come to the attention of one of his teachers, who was also trained as a counsellor. Concerned about his attitude in class, she requested that he see the school psychologist for assessment. 

Dean laughed until John told him he had to go – they were staying in town for another few weeks and he didn’t want to draw any more attention to themselves by avoiding the offer of help, which was how the teacher had presented it when she’d phoned John to ask his consent to make the referral. Dean bitched, but John said he should consider it punishment for acting out in the first place.

Ms. Michaels, or Clara as she insisted the kids called her, was the school psychologist, had been for almost ten years. She didn’t tell Dean that when he arrived at the mandated time, and being a typical teenager with no real ability to judge someone’s age, he saw her baggy combat pants and Converse sneakers and figured she must be young and therefore wet behind the ears. He grinned his most disarming grin as he plopped into the chair across from her.

He was ready with his bullshit and he thought he nailed the delivery. Yes, he wasn’t overly keen on school; no, he didn’t find the work too challenging _or_ too easy; yes, he _did_ know the reason he behaved the way he did in class. At this point he was pure, unadulterated Dean Winchester charm when he admitted that there was a girl, and his way to impress her was to look like a badass in class – the original rebel without a cause.

Clara nodded, jotting notes occasionally and he was slightly surprised to find that she didn’t look annoyed or angry at his admissions. He figured this was her greenness too – either that or she was going down the cool kid route in the hope that he would open up and trust her. Or maybe she was just impressed by his honesty and his obvious maturity when it came to self-reflection. He didn't know, and he _certainly_ didn't care.

In total he had to attend three sessions with her. By the second they were laughing together and on the third and final one he actually admitted that had she been his age, he’d have _definitely_ asked her out. 

When John asked him how it had gone, he’d grinned and assured his dad that there would be no more problems with nosey teachers. Clara would report back that he was simply a cocky teenager, disinterested in school and more pre-occupied with chasing tail. He didn’t mind if she painted him in such an unflattering light – it wasn’t like some of it wasn’t true.

Two weeks later and John’s hunt reached its conclusion. If possible, he’d try to find another reasonably close by to give his sons some stability and enable them to stay in the same school for a little while longer. His next hunt however was three states over so it was time to pack up the Impala and hit the road. Sam launched into one of his epic sulks, making Dean wonder, if he was like this now, what the hell he would be like when he hit puberty. 

As usual, Dean was more than happy to see the back of yet another school, especially Mrs. Logan – the teacher who’d referred him to the counsellor, who now seemed to be giving him the strangest looks whenever he was in her class.

They were all ready to put the town in the rear view mirror when Dean allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. He’d slipped back into school after hours to grab some things from his locker and he was passing Clara’s office, when he felt the compulsion to know what she’d actually said about him. He glanced around, hearing the janitor’s floor polisher working down another corridor, and gone to work on the door’s lock. He was inside within a minute.

He made for the filing cabinet in the corner, the keys to which he found tucked at the back of her desk drawer behind a bag of candies. Keeping an eye out for trouble, he flicked through the neat manila folders until he found _Winchester, Dean._

“Okay, lady. Let’s see what you think of me.”

He scanned the file – boring biographical information, _blah, blah, blah_ – before he got to the meat of the report. He started to read.

_Dean Winchester is a complex young man._

“Got that right,” he muttered with a grin, before quickly discovering that his amusement was a little premature. His smile slipped a little further with every passing word.

_Chronically low self-esteem._

_Self-destructive behaviours._

_Potential attachment disorder._

_Trust issues._

_Possible child neglect._

_At risk of depression and more serious mental health issues in later life._

The report ended with Clara’s concerns for him. He shook his head. Where the hell had she gotten all this from? He’d never _once_ acted like some typical moody teen in her presence and yet she’d come to these conclusions. He was the class bad boy - looks and attitude defining his role, not the class fuck-up, most likely to turn up with a weapon and a burning desire to end his miserable school career in a blood-spattered blaze of glory. 

His natural inclinations were to trash her office, put her windows through and leave knowing he’d exacted his revenge, but instead he put the file back in her drawer and left without incident.

When they were on the freeway several hours later, his dad commented that he was quiet. He nodded and said he was just tired. Sam shot him a look, but said nothing, because he was supposed to be brooding and talking to Dean might give the impression that he wasn’t. 

Dean was busy thinking of Clara. He focussed on hating her, because anger was easier than admitting that she might know him better than he knew himself.

Sitting beside Sam in the Impala with the weight of over twenty years upon him, Dean thinks about Clara again. Despite all her euphemistic terms and expressions of concern, she’d had him pegged as a fuck-up back then – one of those kids that when they go onto commit mass murder, everyone says ‘I knew it’d be him’. He wonders what she’d make of him now.

He realises, too, that all the egg-white omelettes and kale in the world aren’t going to give him the willpower to want to prove her wrong – that he _isn’t_ a fuckup... that he _isn’t_ a mass murderer - but he can’t admit that to Sam, who desperately wants things to be okay. So he deflects, as usual, and talks about Charlie – how there _must_ be an explanation for what she’s done.

He has to believe that she’s redeemable, because he’s certainly not.

**End**


End file.
